


Februwhump Prompt: "Who would the whumpee take a beating for?"

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Februwhump Prompts 2019 [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bad guys, Beating, Broken Bones, Caleb using his shitty background to help others, Gen, Jester is very wise, Jester knows what's up, Whump, needed conversation, protective!Caleb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-22 23:53:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: The cell they’re in is cool and damp, moisture dripping down the walls in shining rivulets. Jester’s out cold when they’re dragged in, but Caleb’s awake, if only barely, and so catches pieces of conversation, taunts and threats. He’s known jailers like this before, had suffered extensively under them in the jail where he met Nott. He knows the type- overconfident, cruel, inclined to go after the weakest, softest target, because they don’t want a challenge so much as a reaction.Caleb weighs his options as he waits for Jester to wake up. They’re both spent from the fight before they were captured, and he knows that especially without his components, they’re on their own until help arrives. He’s moved her so her head is pillowed on his lap, and he absently cards his fingers through her hair as he thinks. He knows this type of people, knows what they’re capable of, how they react, who they’ll likely go for once they’re ready to start. He knows, and he refuses to let that happen.





	1. Chapter 1

Caleb’s always been goal-oriented.

He likes having something to strive for, a box he can mark off when he’s accomplished something; that inclination is honed when he gets to Soltryce- each new spell he learns, every milestone of knowledge, he goes after with fevered abandon. His time in the country with Master Ikithon doesn’t exactly dampen the tendency. The desire to please combined with the need to hit the next goal, do the next thing, pressing ever forward- it’s a terrible and heady combination that Trent utilizes ruthlessly.

And still, after all that, after breaking and reforming, after traveling alone, after finally finding new companions, he’s _still_ goal-oriented. He has one large, overwhelming goal, and it’s always in the back of his mind, waiting, but sometimes it gets overshadowed, pushed temporarily to the side by immediate need.

For instance-

The cell they’re in is cool and damp, moisture dripping down the walls in shining rivulets. Jester’s out cold when they’re dragged in, but Caleb’s awake, if only barely, and so catches pieces of conversation, taunts and threats. He’s known jailers like this before, had suffered extensively under them in the jail where he met Nott. He knows the type- overconfident, cruel, inclined to go after the weakest, softest target, because they don’t want a challenge so much as a reaction.

Caleb weighs his options as he waits for Jester to wake up. They’re both spent from the fight before they were captured, and he knows that especially without his components, they’re on their own until help arrives. He’s moved her so her head is pillowed on his lap, and he absently cards his fingers through her hair as he thinks. He knows this type of people, knows what they’re capable of, how they react, who they’ll likely go for once they’re ready to start. He knows, and he refuses to let that happen.

There’s a rustle of fabric and a shift of movement as Jester starts to wake up, groaning as her eyes slit open.

“What- what happened, where-”

Caleb gently squeezes her shoulder. “I am afraid things went rather poorly, Jester. We are in a cell.”

Her brow crinkles in confusion before her eyes go wide and she jolts up to sitting, Caleb barely leaning back in time to avoid getting knocked in the chin. She’s scrambling to her feet and heading for the door before Caleb can stop her, her fingers digging into the edges where the frame and the door meet, looking for purchase, for a catch, anything, as her tail lashes behind her.

“We need to get out, we need to get the door open, we have to _leave-_ ”

Caleb gets up and moves to her side, catching carefully at her wrists and tugging. He knows he has no hope of moving her if she doesn’t want to allow it, and is relieved when she lets him.

“Jester, you must be calm.”

She turns to him wild-eyed and pale, her skin washed out to a sickly light blue. “Caleb-” Her voice wavers with panic, and his resolve only strengthens as he gets a more secure grip on her and pulls. She goes with him as he leads her back to the far wall and sits, bringing her with him; her skirts pool around her, and he puts an arm around her after only a moment’s hesitation. She’s shaking, her breathes quick and hitching, and he’s familiar enough with the sounds of panic and terror to recognize it. He gives her a squeeze.

“Jester, I know this is frightening. It’s not a great situation, but we must believe the others will come and get us out. We have done it before, and they will do it again.”

“I know, I _know_ , it’s just, what will happen in the meantime? I can’t- I can’t do that again, Caleb, I _can’t-_ ”

If his plan’s going to work, he needs her calm, needs her strong. He feels for her, he _does_ , but he needs her to get herself under control.

“Jester.” He keeps his voice soft, calm, soothing, and takes her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. “I know this is a terrible situation, and while neither of us wants to be here, this is especially hard for you after everything you have been through. I can’t guarantee everything will be okay right now, but I believe- I _have_ to believe- that the others are coming, and we just need to be strong until then.”

She sniffles, eyes red-tinged and wet as she looks up at him. He knows how strong she is, physically and emotionally, but right now she looks small, frightened, and he’s reminded how young and sheltered she is, and he feels the protective urge he normally feels for her surge. He will not let them hurt her, not if he has anything to say about it.

“I need you to listen to me, Jester, you can do that, _ja_?”

She nods, though she doesn’t look very sure, and he smiles.

“The men who brought us here are going to come back.” She freezes under his hands, her breath starting to pick up again, and he squeezes, trying to ground her. “They are going to come back, but I have a plan. I will not let them harm you; but you must work with me. I can only do so much, so you must be strong. I need you to look fearsome.”

Her brows furrow again in confusion as she looks him over, her tail moving agitatedly behind her. “But how will you do that? They took all your stuff, Caleb, your components, your coat, your books- how are we going to fight back?”

He shakes his head. “My plan is not to fight, not with magic or fists. I plan to fight with this,” he says as he taps his temple with a finger. “I do not need to be stronger or have my components in order to out-think them. I am going to play a part, and I need you to as well for it to work. It will be scary, but I know you can do it. You are a very good actress, _ja_? They will not know what hit them.”

Her eyes narrow momentarily, and he worries she’s figured him out, but then her face relaxes and she gives him a tremulous smile, which he mirrors back to her.

“Okay, I think I can do that, Caleb.”

“I know you can, blueberry.”

She smile brightens at the nickname, as he’d hoped it would. Now for the hard part.

“I need you to promise me something though, Jester. This is very important.”

“What?”

“When they come back, I want you to try to get in front of me. I am also going to be acting a part, and it may be difficult to watch, but I need you not to interfere otherwise. Whatever you see me do, whatever you hear me say, just know that I’m acting, and it will be alright. Can you do that?”

Her lips press together, pensive and pinched, the dark blue of her lips paling before she nods, her expression growing hard and resolute. “Okay okay okay, yes, I can do this. We will get _through_ this, and the others will _come_ , and everything will be okay.”

He smiles at her, and he hopes it doesn’t look as much like a grimace as it feels.

They pass the time chatting about nonsense and when they hear a door clang open nearby they both tense. In the last few seconds before the cell door opens, he turns and whispers, “Don’t forget- you are _fierce_ , blueberry, and I am just acting.”

The door swings open and Jester plays her part perfectly, straightening up and snarling an oath in Infernal, coming to her feet in front of him as he slowly gets to his behind her, feigning weakness.

One of the few benefits of being a self-confessed coward, of being afraid nearly all the time, is that when it matters, when it’s actually _helpful_ , it’s no hardship to play the weakling. He barely has to try for the fear he normally keeps bottled up show readily on his face, for the near-constant dread to become manifest. When their jailers enter the room, Caleb presses himself back against the wall, shuddering as the cold and damp seep in through the thin fabric of his shirt. He hunches inward, makes himself look small, an easy target, and bless the two buffoons holding them captive, they buy it.

“Grab him. Let’s make ‘im squeal.”

Caleb’s eyes go wide in only partially-feigned horror, and shakes his head, pressing back further, though there’s nowhere to go.

“ _Nein_ , no, _please-_ ”

Jester tries to stay in front of him but fierce as she is, she’s easily thrown aside. Their captors may be immensely stupid and easily manipulated, but they’re _strong_ , grabbing him with ease and carrying him toward the door. He plays it up, yelling and pleading in a way that normally would fill him with shame, but he’s fueled by his need to keep them focused on him and their attention away from Jester. He gets a last glimpse of her as they pull him through the door and she looks utterly stricken; he hopes she’ll forgive him eventually.

He’s taken down the hall to a room that's bare except for a wooden chair in the middle of it. They throw him onto it, and one of them hauls back and punches him in the jaw, snapping his head to the side and setting his ears ringing. By the time his head clears, his arms have been wrenched behind him and his wrists tightly bound and anchored to the chair. He struggles and they laugh, each grabbing an ankle even as he tries to kick at them; they tie those to the chair as well until soon he’s completely helpless. He tries not to panic, reminds himself he _wanted_ this, that this was his preferred outcome, but it’s difficult to remember when one of the men is standing in front of him grinning and the other is behind him with a large meaty hand clamped on his shoulder. The hand on his shoulder slides to his throat, gripping and pulling his head up and back and for a split second he feels a flash of real fear, thinks he's miscalculated terribly, but then the other man slams his fist into Caleb's stomach, and the fear is replaced with a calmer resignation. His body tries to fold over, but the ropes at his wrists and the hand at his throat keep him from moving, so all he can do is choke on a cry and shake. They work him over with the ease of long practice, moving in tandem and causing pain with little break between. He's quickly breathless, screams caught in his throat as blows rain down faster than he can process. At one point a blow knocks him sideways and the whole chair tilts precariously before it tips, taking him with it. He feels it as his left arm snaps at the forearm when his whole weight, chair and all, land on it; he's screamed himself hoarse but still finds voice enough to cry out. The men just laugh and continue, and throughout the beating the thought Caleb keeps firmly situated in his mind is, _‘At least it's not Jester.’_

The men start to slow down, tired and covered in sweat, and Caleb would breathe a sigh of relief if he could; his ribs scream at him when he draws breath, his broken arm a throbbing misery at his side. He hurts everywhere, bursts of pain so prevalent it’s difficult to tell where one begins and another ends. They untie his legs, then his arms, and his vision goes dim and watery as they pick him up again, heedless of his broken arm, and drag him back through the door and down the hallway to the cell.

He desperately wants to pass out, to get away from the pain if only for a little while, but he can’t yet. There’s still one more part of this to do before he can allow himself the respite of unconsciousness.

They slam the door to the cell open and toss him through it. He's unable to catch himself and lands awkwardly on his front, his broken arm hitting the ground with enough force that he thinks he does pass out, if only for a few seconds. The next moment he’s aware it’s to find gentle hands on his face, warm and careful as they feel around his cheeks and jaw.

“Oh, _Caleb-_ ” That’s Jester, and she sounds anguished. He forces his eyes open to look up at her and she’s blurry, but he thinks that’s mostly do to his eyes being partially swollen shut than anything else. She looks like she’s been crying, her face crumpled in distress, and he reaches for one of her hands with his good one.

“Jester, it’s okay.” It’s hard to speak, his voice barely there, his throat burning with the effort.

Her face twists, grief and anger warring with each other for dominance in her expression. “Caleb, it is _not_ okay.” Her hands flex minutely on his face and he winces at the pressure on the bruising he can feel painting his skin. “Do you even know what you _look_ like? Look what they’ve _done_ to you, Caleb, your _arm_ , and your _face_ , and, and-” She looks perilously close to tears, and while it guts him to see it, he holds tight to the fact that it’s him here on the floor beat to shit, and not her, that it’s him with the broken arm and ribs, not her. He remembers- because he _always_ remembers, doesn’t he?- what she looked like when they found her and Fjord and Yasha at the Sour Nest. Dirty, bruised, tear-streaked and devastated, and there’s not a lot he’s proud of in his life, but this is one thing he can hold onto. He kept this from happening to her, from happening to her _again_ . She may have experienced this kind of cruelty, but he’s had _practice_ , and if there’s any benefit to the things that have happened in his life, it’s that it’s prepared him for this, has put him in a position to be able to spare Jester.

He manages to pull a smile out for her, squeezes one of her wrists in a shaking hand before letting his arm fall back to his side.

“It’s alright, Jester. It is- it’s better this way. You are stronger anyway, _ja_? If we need to fight to get out, it’s better that you be strong and healthy.” He’s trying to focus, to stay awake to keep her company, but it’s so hard. His words are slurring, and it’s probably not a great idea to fall asleep, but he doesn’t think he’s going to have a choice in a moment. “You were wonderful, blueberry. _Du warst perfekt_ ”

His eyes slide closed, and he passes out to the feel of Jester’s hands warm on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb wakes up back at the inn, and he and Jester have a needed conversation.

Things are confusing for awhile.

Time slides by in odd, inky splotches of darkness; he has vague notions of the things happening in between, framed within a constant haze of pain, but can’t be completely certain whether they’re really happening or if he’s imagining them- the soft hum of a melody, the comforting touch of a warm hand on his contrasted by the chill under him, the light press of lips to his forehead, and voices- so many voices.

When he finally comes back to himself and time anchors itself once more in his mind, Caleb's lying in a bed, a heavy quilt pulled up to his chest. He’s propped up on a small mountain of pillows, and it feels as if he’s been ensconced in a cloud. He’s warm, the bed is soft, and compared to how he felt the last time he remembers being awake, he knows some healing must have occurred; there’s a particular type of overall tenderness he associates with magical healing, the sense that while he isn’t injured anymore, his body still remembers that not too long ago, something was _very_ wrong.

He flexes the fingers of his left hand, and his forearm twinges, but it’s a passing sensation- the bones have been repaired, and while it’s not back to normal yet, he knows that soon it will be like nothing ever happened.

He’s seriously considering nestling further into the bedding and dozing back off again when he realizes his isn’t the only breathing in the room.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times to clear them. The room is lit by dappled sunlight that filters in through a nearby open window, the curtains fluttering lightly with a gentle breeze. It looks to be early evening if the position of the sun is any indication ( _six pm,_ his mind helpfully provides, only a little sluggish). Settled precariously in a chair but draped halfway over the foot of the bed is Jester; she looks like she’s sleeping peacefully, the gentle rise and fall of her back as she breathes a relief to see. Her head is pillowed on her arms, her face turned towards him; the bruising he remembers from before is gone, though there are light shadows under her eyes; she looks tired, and he can’t imagine sleeping slumped partway over a bed is comfortable.

He pushes himself up to sitting with a wince, and reaches down to put a light hand on her arm. “Jester?”

She starts awake with a snuffle, and when she sits up there’s an imprint from some of her bangles on her face; it’s oddly endearing.

“Caleb! You’re awake!” She pops up out of the chair and moves closer, leaning in to scrutinize his face, tilting it up to the light with gentle fingers on his chin, and he’s surprised enough he doesn’t try to stop her. “How are you feeling? I’m pretty sure I got everything, but you were a bit of a mess, you know?” She releases his chin to pick up his left arm, holding his wrist in one hand and feeling along the forearm with her other.

“Jester-”

“For someone very smart sometimes you do really stupid things, did you know that, Caleb?”

The change in subject is jarring, and when he looks up he finds her face is drawn down into an uncustomary frown. Her focus is still on his arm where she has it cradled in both hands, turning it this way and that, checking that it’s all in one piece.

“I- what do you mean, Jester?”

Her hands still, warm and steady against the delicate skin of his wrist, his inner arm. “I had time to think about it, you know. Your plan.”

“Ah. That.”

“Yes. That.” She doesn’t sound angry, but instead, disappointed, which is almost worse. His stomach drops unpleasantly, but that’s alright. He knew going in that if she figured it out she wouldn’t be happy, but that wasn’t the point. The point had been to keep her safe, and he accomplished that; expecting her to also be okay with his deceit, well, that had been unlikely.

“What were you thinking, Caleb?” He glances up, eyes skimming over her face long enough to see her looking back at him, her brows drawn together in concern. “They could have _killed_ you. You’re squishy, we keep _telling_ you, it’s not exactly hard to miss.”

His hands flex involuntarily, and she finally lets go of his arm. He pulls it in toward his chest before letting his hands drop to settle in his lap, fingers twisting over and around each other.

“I do not think they would have killed me, Jester. That was not the point they were trying to make.”

“And what point do you think they were making, Caleb?”

“They wanted to give a, eh, a show of strength, to intimidate. If they’d wanted us dead they wouldn’t have bothered putting us in a cell, or dragging one of us off. They’d have just done it right there. It was an example they wanted, and those are often more effective alive than dead.”

She’s quiet, contemplative, and it’s different enough from how she usually acts that it worries him.

“Are...are _you_ alright, Jester? I didn’t think to ask- I don’t even rightly know where we are.”

“Oh-” She glances up and around before letting her gaze settle back on him. “I’m fine, you know. Everyone else showed up, just like you said they would, and they got us out. We’re at the inn. You’ve been sleeping; I healed you up this morning.”

“Well, you _are_ the cleric.” He says it lightly, teasing, but it falls flat. Her lower lip is beginning to tremble, and his heart twists in his chest.

“I was scared, Caleb.” Her eyes flick down momentarily, and when she looks back up again he’s horrified to see tears in her eyes. “I was so scared, and you wouldn’t wake up, and there was nothing I could _do_.”

“Jester, I’m sorry, but it was for the best-”

“ _How_ ?” The word comes out on a sound not unlike a sob, the tears in her eyes spilling over. “ _How_ was it for the best? Why did _you_ deserve that any more than I would have? You said I was fierce, Caleb, were you lying?”

“N-no, Jester, of course not. You are one of the strongest people I know.”

“Then _why_ ?” Her voice is confused, hurt, small in a way it should _never_ be, and he reaches for her hand, grasping it tightly when he finds it.

“I could not bear to let them hurt you, Jester. You’ve been through so much already, and when I realized what would happen, I made a decision. I understand if you’re upset, and I’m sorry for making you worry, but I would do it again.”

For a moment she doesn’t say anything, and there’s just the sound of her hitched breathes, each one driving like a dagger through his heart; gods, the beating had hurt less than this.

“Did it occur to you,” she says, her voice quiet and wavering with emotion. “That maybe I would have liked to have been able to _do_ something? That last time I couldn’t do _anything_ as Fjord and Yasha were...were-” Jester takes a moment to collect herself again, then presses on. “I couldn’t do _anything_ . And this time, I was scared, of _course_ I was, but I could have done _something_ at least, and you took that choice from me. You didn’t ask me, you just _did_ it.”

Caleb doesn’t know what to say; for all his thinking, planning, plotting, it hadn’t occurred to him to just _talk_ to her and figure something out together. Just one more thing his hubris has gotten him.

“Like I said, Caleb, you’re very smart, but sometimes you do very stupid things.”

“I-” He takes his hand back to run it through his hair, grimacing at the twinge in his arm as he does so. “ _Ja_ , I do.” There wasn’t much else to say, was there? It _had_ been stupid of him to do, and it’s only the most recent in a long line of poor decisions on his part.

“Don’t sound so sad, Caleb, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

He risks a glance up, and though there are still tears sparkling in her eyelashes, she’s smiling, expression warm.

“But I _hurt_ you, Jester.”

She nods. “Yes, you did. But! I know _why_ you did what you did, and you meant well.” She reaches out and pokes a finger into his chest. “Your heart is in the right place, Caleb. You just stink at communicating, is all. But we’re working on that! You’re very smart; you will figure it out.”

He looks down at where she’d poked him and frowns. “How can you forgive me so easily? I didn’t even properly apologize, yet.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes, of course. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Would you do it again, now that you know how I feel about it?”

At that he looks up to meet her gaze; her head is tilted to the side, openly curious.

“No. I would talk to you first.”

A grin splits her face, and it’s like the sun breaking through clouds. “Then that is enough. You made a mistake, Caleb; everyone makes mistakes, even smartypants like you. You learned from it, though, which is the important part. Learning from our mistakes is how we grow as people.”

He blinks at her, struck, not for the first time, at how brilliant she is sometimes.

“Did you know that you are very wise, blueberry?”

Her grin softens, and she pats his arm before gently pushing at his shoulder to get him to lay back down again. “Of course! I am a cleric, and we are very wise people. It is what we do.” She fusses with the quilt, tugging it up again. “And as your _very_ wise cleric, I am telling you to get more rest. I wasn’t kidding about the whole ‘you were a mess’ bit. It took a lot of work to put you back together.”

Caleb closes his hand around her wrist where her hand still rests on the quilt and gives it a squeeze.

“Thank you, Jester. For everything.”

“Of course, Caleb. That is what friends are for.” With one last pat to his arm she turns and leaves the room, and he lets the sounds from the open window lull him back into a peaceful doze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of people asked about a possible follow-up to this piece, and my brain cooperated, so here we have a second chapter to wrap things up for the prompt.

**Author's Note:**

> And I've gone completely off the rails. This isn't even a prompt from the Februwhump list, but hey, I'm living my best whumpy life, ok? I cannot be constrained by a mere _list_.
> 
>  _Du warst perfekt_ \- 'You were perfect.'  
>    
> Want to throw prompts at me, yell at me about these characters, or just say hi? Come shoot me a message on tumblr at[Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/), or on twitter at the same handle!  
> 


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